Saturday, May 31, 2008

losing a best friend..

I'm tired...

Tired of looking for your walk in the walk of that man on the road. Tired of comparing how that guy looks and how you looked like that when you were 17. Tired of stopping myself from having the faith, but somewhere within, believing. Tired of ignoring all the signs which point to a banner in my mind that says, "Your trust is going to be questioned again".

I love challenges, and distances, and games and waiting. But I am tired now. I never wanted this friendship to be a game. I have never wanted any relationship to ever be a game. But I am tired of this.. whatever this is.

I am tired of being cynical about the people closest to me. I am tired of wanting my best friend to not have the "world plot against him" and for him to everytime get stuck in a situation wherein I lose my faith on him.

I am tired of staying awake, although I am dead tired. Of not being able to shut my eyes, just because I had been promised something at 3 am. This is my last wait.

I am tired of promises that are made with random words, and then forgotten just as randomly. And I am tired of believing these promises every single time. I am tired of waiting to recapture the best moments I spent in this city. I am tired of getting hurt again, yet again and then again.

I am tired of other friends telling me to give up on this friendship. Not tired of listening to them, but tired of hoping that they might be wrong. I am tired of being excited because this time you wont break a promise, but that time has not yet come. Not after seven years. I am tired of not being able to trust someone else's affection, because trusting yours has only brought me disappointment.

I am tired of being a coward, and giving you one more chance everytime. I am tired of being strong, and taking all the blows you give me each time. I am tired of doing the wrong things in life to other people because of a setback I get from you. I am tired of standing up for you.

This is your last chance. If you don't come through this time, my best friend, I'll lose everything I have pinned on you.

But when I lose all that, I know I'll get a different kind of freedom. What I don't know is whether I will like it or not. Whether I will be able to accept it or not.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Flying Alone

Flying by yourself is magical. It’s magical when you know how to not think. To snap out of everything the minute you end that last call and switch the bloody nuisance of a phone off. Its magical when you select a movie, see it, forward the parts you want to forward, see another movie, supposedly a sappy one which your friends refused to see with you, tear up a bit with a chocolate not having to worry about damaging your macho reputation, see another movie your friends saw when you were not in town, accompany the movie with a glass of terrible tasting wine.

When you pick and chose what you want to eat in the lunch/brunch tray provided to you, wonder for a bit if its really vegetarian, and then because there is no one to verify, try a bit, and leave it because it tastes bad, not because it tastes like meat.

When you try to surreptitiously look around the plane for any guys worth trying to catch a second glimpse of.

When you curl up on the seat adjacent, without worrying about disturbing someone else’s peace.

When you spot that female with beautiful hair, and try to catch a glimpse of her face to see if it matches with the wonderful hair. (It did)

When you get off at the connecting airport, see a model of something you know your best friend would love, and pick it up for him without worrying about how it will damage your credit card conversion.

Because, after ages, there is Marathi floating around you in speech bubbles. And the shrill Saathiya ringtone ringing somewhere, with a mother calling out to her child in Gujarati, a Parsi wife asking her husband to speak softly, a muslim guy spiffing his hair up to impress that wonderful hair female mentioned above, an old uncle in a safari suit carrying a peti around, and a young kid in military pants trying to steal his sister’s ipod. And you are absorbing it in all alone, and smiling contently.

When you happily think about only those patchy parts of an issue you want to think about. The rest will be thought about when anyone else is concerned about it. You are not at the instant.

Because when you finally get 12 hours just for yourself, you enjoy them like never before.

Flying with yourself is magical, but somehow at the beginning of the journey you always wish you had someone standing in the security check line with you, with their arms around you.

But, I love flying with myself. Because I am not alone, I have me for company.

Saturday, May 10, 2008


1 Car Ride to the first airport.

2 Bus rides between destinations.

3 blocks of walking lugging huge heavy bags.

4 Plane rides between five cities

5 train rides from one part of NYC to another.

And home. Thousands of miles away from home, but home nevertheless.

Makes you wonder how relative or absolute is the term home. How much of a variable is it, with dependables being the people who make your home, home. And how important is it.

I have wondered several times in the past few days what I am going to, and going away from. And what is following me there. It’s all relative. My realization of leaving India when I came to USA to study is fresh in my brain. I don’t know how. But I still know exactly how I felt that day, when my brother picked us up from JFK and took us home. This post does not begin to describe it. And inexplicably, but expectedly, I feel the same as I sit in Abu Dhabi Airport. This time for my home in Champaign. For my home that is the people I have left behind.

I packed up by house before I left. Because I am moving out of that apartment. The last two days in Champaign have been crazy. RM left a day before me, we have finally PARTED WAYS. No more RM bitching, unless she pounces on all my friends who are going to be her neighbors next year. But over the last few months, I realized she is not important enough to write about or bitch about too much here, so I stopped. I don’t think she can remedy that situation anymore. Unless she tries to become to friendly with Dhum, Petrovski or Pinki. She won’t bother with the girls ofcourse.

Anyway, so I packed up my apartment. Everyone of the Gumbal got a little emotional about it. It was home for a lot of us. Even if we didn’t spend hours and hours together there. It was our haven in some ways. My apartment was always there to have fun in. It always had any ingredient needed, had our cooking sessions, our Friends marathon seasons, our talking into the nights, night maroing with coffee walks in the morning. Our haven. The new apartment has great expectations to live up to.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

I want too much, I think too much

I have a page full of drafts. The last post was a recycled one. I wrote a post about the things heavily on my mind, completed it, tagged it, and then.. hit Save. He speaks about this same phenomena in a much better way.

A day and 20 hours away from India, I'm wondering...

What am I going away from? What am I going to?

I feel like I'm leaving one family behind. Here I am, sitting among boxes and boxes of my stuff, wondering if that family has already left me behind, or is my mind paying tricks on me again..

I am going to one family. The one that can never leave me behind. Never isolate, desert, or go away. Never make me feel like maybe I'm better away. But where's the joy gone?

I'm convincing my mind to detach, detach, detach. While one part of me is loudly yelling inside my brain, another is putting on a straight, pleasant face, looking understanding and .. detached?

I'm looking at three months ahead, wondering what happened to this time. Where did it go?

I m wondering why does it feel that whatever is really inside this shell, is being torn apart. While I sit patiently waiting for realization to dawn.

I don't want one at the cost of another. I don't want either if both ask me to make a choice. I don't want time with one person, while the rest stay away. Spend their time somewhere else.

I want them. Back.

I hate Finals